


Happy Endings

by bactaqueen



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Massage, Sex Work, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:49:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3258854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bactaqueen/pseuds/bactaqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's looking a little tense so Natasha sends him to get a massage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Endings

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. No profit is earned and no infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Note: #fuckmestraps ruined everything.

"You look tense, Steve."

Grunting, he landed a final punch that sent the bag swaying--but _not_ flying off its chain and across the gym. He wasn't _that_ tense. He looked up, past the bag, to where Natasha was standing at the edge of the mat. That self-amused smirk was on her face again, the one that told him whatever she had planned for him was meant with maybe a little bit of friendly malice.

He breathed out heavily and stood up straighter. "Yeah? What gave it away?"

"Here," she said, and from the pocket of her soft short pants she produced a standard-sized business card. She waved it at him. "You've got a one-hour massage with Keelie at two. The tip's on you but the rest is on me."

Steve stared at her, blank-faced and a little disbelieving and definitely more than a little wary. "Keelie?" he repeated. It seemed like every day he heard a name he'd never encountered before.

Natasha nodded. "She's an artist with her hands."

The way she said it raised the hair on the back of his neck and made his face feel hot. He was pretty sure she was setting him up for something she thought he wasn't going to like. So he plucked the card from her fingers and read the address.

"This isn't one of those rub and tug places, is it?"

Natasha scoffed. "Would I do that to you?"

"Yes." He shoved the card in his pocket. A massage? Probably wouldn't hurt anything. Might even be nice. "You would." But he smiled at her. "Thanks, Natasha."

"Of course, Steve. What are friends for?"

***

Steve was impressed. It looked like a legitimate business. It was even sandwiched between an acupuncture office and a sports injury center on the ground floor in a complex a few blocks from his apartment. He verified the address on the card Natasha had given him and checked the time on his watch. The bells on the door even jingled when he went in.

The woman behind the reception desk was unusually pretty, but New York as a whole seemed to have more than its fair share of pretty people. She smiled when Steve did.

"Hi! Can I help you?"

Steve gave her his name. "I have an appointment?"

She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Are you sure it's not under another name?"

It hadn't even crossed his mind that he'd use a fake name, but-- Of course. "Uh--"

"Roger Stevens, maybe?" she offered.

He wanted to laugh. "Yes, that's probably right."

"I thought so." Her fingers flew over her keyboard. "All right. Keelie is just finishing up prepping the room." She gave Steve a brilliant smile. "She'll be out to get you in just a moment. Why don't you have a seat? I can get you something to drink if you'd like."

"Oh. Um, no, thanks."

The waiting room was comfortable enough. Steve took a seat in one of the padded chairs with his back to the glass shopfront. Jazz played softly from hidden speakers and the scent of lavender permeated the air. There were magazines scattered across two of the small tables. The women's interest covers caught his eye and put him at ease more than the car magazines and the real estate circulars. It had to be legitimate if they were serving a female clientele. So he settled in, pulled his phone out, and read through his emails while he waited.

There had been a lot of paperwork back during his war, but now he carried it around in his pocket and it was endless. PR requests, personnel reviews, mission reports, situation reports... Steve rolled his shoulders. He didn't even bother opening the messages from Natasha. They were all links to funny videos of cats.

He saved those for later.

"Mr. Stevens?"

Steve looked up to find a woman standing at the edge of the reception desk, smiling at him. There was a teal streak in the dark hair piled high on her head and the stud in her cheek sparkled. Tattoos covered her arms and peeked from the neck of her scrubs-style top. He smiled.

Natasha was trying too hard.

She smiled back. "I'm Keelie. Let's get you back there. Is it your first time?"

Steve stood, slipping his phone into his pocket. He said, "A friend thought I was tense."

"Well, I'm here to fix that."

She led him down a narrow hall and into a cramped, dim room. The massage table dominated the room, positioned at an angle so that there was space in one corner for a privacy screen and room in another corner for a shallow set of shelves that held candles, a couple of small machines with speakers, and a selection of labeled bottles.

Keelie patted the end of the table, where she'd left a folded towel atop a folded sheet. She said, "Normally, I have clients disrobe, but you can leave on whatever you're most comfortable with. Undress behind the screen and when you're ready, lie down on your tummy here and use one of these to cover your rear end if you'd like. Do you have any questions?" She was all business.

It was remarkably reassuring.

Steve said, "No, ma'am."

She laughed. "Ma'am. That's cute." She shook her head. "I'll be back in just a few minutes, all right?"

He nodded.

When she'd gone, Steve took the towel and ducked behind the screen. He left his clothes on the small folding table shoved into the corner. He debated removing his briefs. For probably too long, he stood with his hands on his hips, staring down at himself. It seemed awkward either way, so he took them off and left them on top of his clothes. He wrapped the towel around his waist and went to lie down.

He wasn't shy, exactly. Not anymore. There hadn't been much privacy in the Army and SHIELD barely offered more. Natasha didn't offer any at all--he'd learned the hard way to always be wary of her and her ever-present cell phone camera and what seemed to him an unhealthy preoccupation with Twitter and the pound symbol. It was the cell phone cameras that really made him uncomfortable. Unflattering photos of him had ended up on the news and on the Internet before he'd learned that was something he had to worry about. Naked in "safe" places was one thing. Naked in a place he wasn't sure was safe...

Steve sighed. He told himself that Natasha wasn't likely to send him somewhere dangerous, not even to give him a hard time. He could at least trust her in that. He settled on his belly on the table and shifted around until he was comfortable. The towel felt a little scratchy against his ass and upper thighs and the thing he rested his face in reminded him an awful lot of a toilet seat, but once he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, it was remarkably easy to start to relax.

So maybe, he thought grudgingly, Natasha was right. Maybe he was too tense.

He knew what happened to guys who couldn't relax.

God, he missed Bucky. Bucky never would have let it get this bad.

The door opened with a soft  _click_ and Steve smelled Keelie's perfume before she spoke.

"Comfortable?"

He nodded before he remembered himself, then said, "Yeah. Yes."

"Good. Is it warm enough? Do you want me to play any music?"

"It's fine. It's up to you."

"This isn't my massage, Mr. Stevens," she said playfully. She padded around to the head of the table and her feet came into view.

She had cute toes, he thought. He almost laughed at himself. Cute toes? No wonder he couldn't get a date. He said, "I've never done this before, so I don't know."

She  _hmm_ ed. "I love being someone's first." There was the  _snap_ of the bottle cap, and she told him. "I'm going to start now."

Steve closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. "All right."

Her hands were surprisingly strong and the oil was warm and sweet-smelling. She started at his neck and worked her way down, pushing the tension out of his shoulders and upper back, leaving him feeling a little like he was melting over the table. He hadn't realized how sore and on edge he really was.

When she massaged down his arms all the way to his hands, his eyes rolled back in his head. He nearly made some embarrassing noises then.

Keelie ran her hands down his back and folded the edge of the towel over so it was lower on his hips. Then she ran her hands up the backs of his thighs and folded that edge of the towel higher. She set her hands once more to the small of his back and worked up again in long, sure strokes, and as she did, she asked how he felt about a glute massage.

It took him a dazed moment to respond. "What?" He had to be hearing things.

She dug her thumbs into the dimples at the base of his spine, and repeated her question. "Some people don't like it," she explained.

Yes, he imagined that could be awkward and uncomfortable. "Oh." He tensed a little as he considered it, wondering what the right answer was. "Um. I'm not sure."

She eased the new tightness back out of his shoulders. "That's fine," she said. Her voice was low and soothing. "We'll give it a try and if you don't like it, you say so."

"All right," he agreed. It seemed safe enough.

She pulled away and there was the quiet snap of a bottle cap again. Then her hands were on his foot and his eyes definitely rolled back in his head. She pushed her fingers between his toes and rubbed firm circles into the ball of his foot and his heel and he decided Natasha was absolutely right about this.

Then his brain blanked out for a while.

She edged her hands under the towel, slowly, and when he didn't stop her, she used her thumbs and her fingertips and her palms up, down, and over. It went straight through him, up his spine and through his gut and into his cock, and he nearly choked as a sudden sense memory overcame him. The last time he'd been touched like that--the last time anyone had--

Steve gasped and shut the memory down. Not today. He couldn't do that today. Being touched felt good. That was all that mattered.

 

He'd save the memories of Bucky for later.

"Roll over." Her voice was still quiet and firm.

And professional. So professional it didn't occur to Steve to think about why he shouldn't do what she said until he'd already done it and she was adjusting the towel over his lap.

He kept his eyes shut and focused on his breathing. She'd seen this before, probably hundreds of times. It was no different to her than blood and brain matter and broken bones were to him: an occupational hazard. It meant she was doing her job. Or something. Probably. He breathed in and out and his fingers curled into fists and the familiar heat of shame crawled up through his chest toward his face. He'd be over this in just a minute. It would be all right.

She moved to the head of the table and leaned over him, covering his hands with hers and loosening his fists. Something soft brushed his cheek and she smelled so warm and sweet. He made the mistake of opening his eyes.

Technically, that thing she was wearing was a dress. But he could see right through it. Her nipples were a mouth-watering brown and those tattoos on her arms continued on to frame her breasts above and below and cover her sides. She leaned over him again to rub her hands from his shoulders to his hips and he had a faceful of her small, firm breasts and sheer yellow fabric.

When she stood back up, she smiled down at him, amused and knowing.

Steve shut his eyes again.

"Remember that if I do anything you don't like, speak up. I want you to be comfortable."

He almost laughed.

She walked around the table, back down to the foot of it, and went to work on his feet again, one and then the other. Her touch was different. Still firm, still sort of clinical, but... different. She worked from his knees to his ankles and back, one at a time, and the first time she slid one hand firm up the inside of his thigh, he thought he might have an asthma attack.

It had been such a long time.

Her touch changed again. It was still firm and still purposeful, but it became entirely non-clinical. She dragged the tips of her fingers down the insides of his thighs, pushing his legs apart as much as the table allowed. She tucked her fingers under the towel over his hips and started to ease it down.

He tipped his head back and squeezed his eyes shut tight. His fingers curled again at his sides and this time she didn't make him relax them.

This time, she just made a quiet sound of approval and she made a little nest of the towel across his thighs. She took her time getting to it, running her hands over his hips and his thighs, using her palms and her fingertips and even her nails. She pressed the pads of her fingers into the hot skin around his cock and combed her nails through the scratchy hair just above it. She brushed her thumb up the seam of his sac and cupped his balls in one hand as she squeezed his flank with the other.

When Steve shifted his hips restlessly, she took his cue and wrapped both of her small warm hands around his cock and started to pull. Root to crown, smooth and hot and continuous, with the slide of her palm over the wet tip of him at the end of each stroke.

He didn't last. When he came, it felt like his spine had liquified and leaked right out of his cock, over her hands, only to be cleaned up with the soft towel. The anxiousness and stress and fear he'd been carrying around since he came out of the ice ebbed.

She draped the sheet over him. "Take your time," she said softly.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Steve laid there for several minutes, coming down. He felt better. A lot better. It was sort of embarrassing how much better he felt. He huffed at himself and sat up slowly. He was still light-headed, so he held on to the edge of the table and hunched his shoulders and took a few deep breaths. Then he slid off the table, went behind the privacy screen, and put his clothes back on.

He felt like a new man. Not quite as drastically as he had when he'd stepped out of the Project Rebirth chamber, but pretty damn close.

The hall and then the reception area were both blindingly bright when he finally went out. Keelie was standing at the desk, chatting with the receptionist, and she gave him a friendly, professional smile.

"How are you feeling?"

Steve couldn't help the real grin. "Great, thank you." He fished his wallet out of his pocket.

Keelie waved a hand dismissively. "Your friend already took care of that."

"I know." He still pulled a few bills out and handed them to her. "She told me I had to cover the tip, though," he said, and tried to make it light.

She accepted and smiled. "Thanks. Have a great day, Mr. Stevens." She started off down the hall.

Steve turned to the receptionist. "Can I book again for the same time next week?"

***

His phone lit up with a new message. He snagged it off the dresser on his way into the living room and swiped his thumb across the screen to open Natasha's text. It was a photo of a man's naked torso, and Natasha had written  _THANKS XO_ across him in what looked like red lipstick.

Steve smiled. She'd gotten his thank-you gift.


End file.
